


Quid Pro Quo

by Joules Mer (joulesmer)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Dadmiral Christopher Pike, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Pre-Star Trek: Into Darkness, post Narada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-01-23 01:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18539515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joulesmer/pseuds/Joules%20Mer
Summary: Getting the Enterprise involves a little quid pro quo.  It doesn’t go to plan.Leonard didn’t even know Jim wasn’t in San Francisco until he received the first message.  He wasn’t going to let the next be from a dead man.





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey Bones…” A pause and a shuffling noise then Jim’s voice continued, sounding more weary than it had in weeks, “This is about the tenth time I’ve tried to record this. The first couple, well, I’ve heard about messages like this and maybe I thought you’re supposed to be all blase and confident, but that just didn’t feel right so I’m trying again. I guess you heard we’ve got a launch date for the Enterprise. They gave me the crew too… hard for them not to, I suppose. We lost so many people, and fleet PR probably got involved as well.” And Pike, thought Leonard. The Admiral was nothing if not Jim’s biggest advocate with command. “Turns out there was a string attached I hadn’t appreciated. I can’t say much. It was only supposed to be a week or so, but if you’re getting this then someone’s marked me as MIA. I listed you as my next of kin; I don’t know what they’re going to tell you, but I want you to know I’ll get back, Bones. I promise.”

Leonard dropped his padd, mouth slack in surprise. Outside his fleet housing a bird landed in the ivy that twined around the windowsills of Cochrane Hall; the streaming sunlight completely at odds with the message. Confusion and disbelief swirled in his belly and left a sour taste in his mouth that had him mutter out loud, “What the Hell, Jim?”

A bad joke? Unlikely. Kirk didn’t joke about some things. An error? Fumbling for his comm, he flipped it open, “McCoy to Kirk?” Licking his lips as the silence stretched, he tried again, “McCoy to Kirk. Come in, Jim.” Nothing. He’d seen Jim what, three days ago? Yes, a quick lunch before he dashed off to the medical conference being held on campus. They’d settled into a routine of sorts once the funerals finished: an assumption of last minute comms for lunches or dinners, crashing on each others’ couch at least a few evenings a week, weekends generally spent together and with surviving cadets from the Enterprise. Squeezing into a single bunk when they just needed each other. It was a riff on a pattern that had dominated their last year at the academy… longer, if Leonard was honest. The device in his hand was powered on and responsive; he tried one more time, “McCoy to Kirk.”

Nothing.

Snapping his comm shut with numb fingers, Leonard moved to stand in front of the window. The early evening sunlight on the quad would have been calming, if it weren’t for the fact that the academy was still noticeably too quiet. The wake of the Narada still hung over the campus like an unseasonable blanket of snow. A glance at the chrono confirmed it was 1745… perhaps not too late to act. Still in his too new ‘fleet greys from the conference, Leonard grabbed his cover and dashed out the door. Command headquarters wasn’t far, but he was breathless by the time he made it there, dress shoes ringing on the polished floor. 

“Dr. McCoy?” Pike’s yeoman looked up from his console with wide eyes, “I don’t believe I had you down for an appointment…”

Waving a hand dismissively, Leonard replied, “You didn’t.” There weren’t words to describe the message so he settled for, “Something unexpected came up. Is the admiral in?”

Uncertain, because there was an appointment calendar to enforce even though McCoy had spent two months remyelinating nerves in the admiral’s spinal cord, the young man reluctantly nodded. Leonard would have pushed past the yeoman if he’d needed to, so it was a relief when he was merely motioned towards the door.

“McCoy?” Whatever was on his face must have been striking, because Pike immediately set his padd aside and waved towards a chair.

Collapsing into the seat, Leonard swallowed and considered where to start; he wasn’t even sure if Pike was on his side. For all he knew, the admiral had planned whatever mission Jim had been sent on. Pike was waiting patiently, but a frown was slowly twisting his forehead the longer Leonard vacillated. Words failing him, Leonard simply set his padd on the desk between them and pressed play.

Jim was only a sentence into his rambling message and the admiral’s face changed: lips thinning and surprise morphing into something blending concern and anger. He waited until it ended, expression darkening all the while, to ask, “When did you get this?”

Pulse high in his throat, Leonard’s voice didn’t quite sound like his own as he replied, “Twenty minutes ago. Give or take.”

Grabbing for his cane, Pike shoved his chair back and hauled himself awkwardly to his feet. “Come on.” For a man with lingering neuropathy, the admiral could nonetheless move when he needed to. Pike spared a glance at his yeoman, injecting at least a modicum of warmth into his tone as he called in passing, “Go home, Patrick.”

The young man smiled and set down his padd, “Aye, sir.”

Leading the way down the hall with a click, click, click of his cane, they passed other offices in a direction Leonard knew led to more senior members of the admiralty. Pike finally turned into an outer office, waving a hand preemptively as he did so, “At ease, yeoman.”

“Sir, I…” The young woman jumped to her feet, but didn’t move fast enough to keep Pike from rapping sharply on the closed inner door.

“Come!”

Leonard followed Pike into the office, hovering in the background when it became apparent just where they were. 

Admiral Nensi Chandra looked up sharply from his padd, quickly glancing from Pike to McCoy, then back again to ask in a cool deadpan, “Can I help you?”

“Where did they send Kirk?”

The senior admiral’s reply was bland, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gripping the handle of his cane more tightly, Pike pressed, “Nensi.”

The older admiral’s gaze flickered between them as he repeated, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sensing the difficulty, Pike waved his free hand back towards McCoy. “Leonard is fine: he patched me up after Nero. He got a message today from Jim that sounds like the kid is in trouble.”

A frown that might have masked a stronger emotion twisted Chandra’s features. “Kirk communicated with…”

“No,” Leonard broke in, “No— it was a pre-recorded message. He must have somehow set it to send if he was marked as MIA. It didn’t say anything about where he is or what he’s doing.”

Holding his hands open on the table, placatingly, Chandra tried again, “Chris, you know I can’t…”

In a tone that was more imploring than commanding, Pike said, “No, Nensi, I know you _can_ help with this…” The admiral flinched backwards in his chair, lips pressed tightly together. Knuckles white on the silver handle of his cane, Pike softly added, “Please.”

Chandra stared without speaking, then exhaled heavily in a surprising display of defeat. “Sit down before you fall down, Chris. You too, McCoy.” 

Quickly moving to comply, they settled into chairs on the visitor’s side of the desk. 

Chandra pressed a button on his desk and Leonard’s padd flickered and died, a powerful electronics dampening field enough to take it offline. Fixing the younger man with a stern look, he said, “I don’t like you being here, McCoy.”

Adam’s apple bobbing, Leonard gave the only answer he could, “Understood, sir.” Damned if he was going to leave.

Chandra held the gaze for a moment longer, then said, “Starfleet Intelligence has been operating covert talks with the Romulan Empire. With the loss of Vulcan a power imbalance has spread through those sectors, and with a significant number of our own ships lost we’re eager for any stability that can be brokered. The Romulan senate has factions— we have to win over at least three of them to have a hope of reaching an agreement. House Khev is particularly influential amongst the praetorium: a delegation was to meet, face to face, in the neutral zone to share intelligence. The Romulans want the intel on their sun and the Narada.”

As the pause lengthened, Pike prompted, “And Jim…”

A muscle twitched in the admiral’s jaw before he continued, “Influential parties in the Romulan senate would rather take advantage of a perceived moment of weakness on our part. Others are claiming Starfleet hasn’t told the truth about what happened. s’Khev wanted to see Kirk, face to face, to hear from him directly what happened and to get a measure on the man who is going to be captain of our flagship. The Tal Shiar have egg on their face here: Kirk came out of nowhere so far as they are concerned. You, Chris, they’ve probably had files on for years. But an unknown young captain, who defeated a ship with the capability to destroy a planet…”

Chandra trailed off and Pike nodded his understanding, softly admitting, “They’d be concerned, even scared; so much as the Romulan praetorium can be.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, McCoy asked, “What went wrong? You don’t usually mark someone MIA unless you know something has happened.”

“The USS Chatelet got them to the edge of the neutral zone, then continued on a routine patrol. Kirk, an ambassador, and a member of intelligence doubling as security were left in a modified Perseus-class shuttle to proceed to the designated uninhabited planet. A level seven ion storm was reported on a coded frequency before comms dropped out. We’ve been unable to pick up the vessel on long-range sensors, and haven’t heard anything from the Romulans either. The Chatelet won’t be back in range for another five days.”

“Wait a minute,” McCoy straightened in his seat, eyebrows drawing together, “you haven’t sent the Chatelet back?”

Pike answered for Chandra, setting a hand on the younger man’s arm as he did so, “It would tip off the Romulans. They’re familiar with our routine patrols and largely ignore them. If a ship doubles back you’d better believe they’ll be all over it and it might not be a faction we want to see.”

Chandra nodded his agreement. “We’ve had the Galileo Array pointed at the system for the last 48 hours. Ionic activity is still strong; it’s possible Kirk is just fine, but forced to land or unable to contact us given comms interference.”

“But we can’t just do nothing and wait for the Chatelet to mosey by the drop off point again!” The moment the words were out, Leonard cursed his big mouth for giving them an accusatory tone.

“Do you think so little of us, McCoy?” Chandra’s expression closed and he reached for the button on his desk. “We’re in contact with our intermediaries to see if anything had been reported on the Romulan side. Back channels normally take a week at the best of times.” He pressed the control for the dampening field and Leonard’s padd blinked back to life. Without the field in place, nothing more could be said.

The message was clear: they were dismissed.

 

*******************

Jimmy Kirk played football.

After Tarsus.

Some dickhead counselor at school said it would “aid his reintegration with his peer group.”

Sixteen years old and he finally had his muscle mass back plus two inches of height, which he put to good use as he sprinted flat out then _tackled_ with a crunch of protective padding. They both went down hard, winded for a moment as the scent of grass filled their nostrils and background yelling dulled at the shock of pain.

Scrambling back to his feet, Tyler Posner held his left arm close to his chest as he gasped, “Jimmy Kirk you hit _mean_!” 

Good naturedly, he retorted, “It’s Jim, asshole.” His shoulder throbbed a warning of strained ligaments, but he swallowed down the pain. Pain was good. Pain meant you were alive.

Rolling over with a groan and he was Jim Kirk, twenty-five years old. It was dark and, he amended with an involuntary shiver, _cold_. The air was stale too, with a stink of ozone. 

“Hello?” The word came out with a painful rasp in his throat, as if he’d been screaming or inhaled smoke; Jim wondered how long he’d been unconscious. When no one replied, he tried to roll over further and found himself trapped: a smooth, cool surface pressed down on him from above. What the fuck? He tried again, croaking out, “Bones?”

Nothing.

Shifting, Jim found that a painful shimmy allowed him to slide to the right until eventually he seemed to be free of whatever had trapped him. Reaching back, he carefully felt and mapped the space until he realized: he’d been under a bench. It came back to him then:

He was on a shuttle.

He was supposed to be meeting with a _Romulan_ envoy.

Jim’s head swam and when he touched his forehead his fingers found something crusting his hairline. Dried blood, if his headache was anything to do by. Whatever had happened was not good. He followed the line of the bench with his hands and realized he must be in the central compartment of the vessel. A padd… something to make light had to be nearby. Clawing his way awkwardly to his feet he followed the line of the wall towards where there should be a small table and replicator unit. Three steps and he kicked something that slid across the deck plating. Scrambling after it on hands and knees, Jim managed to find a padd. In the dim light of the device it was clear he was alone, and that they’d had a hell of a tumble: everything was overturned and scattered. Or had they been boarded? It was hard to say— if they had been boarded, it was unlikely anyone in the neutral zone would leave him alive wedged under the sleeping area. What the hell should he do?

_Get up, Jim._

Jim wondered when the voice in his head had started to sound distinctly like Bones.


	2. Chapter 2

The temperature was still dropping. Jim shivered, drawing a blanket more tightly around his shoulders and wincing as something sparked in the wiring he had exposed. Angling the padd to provide more light he worked increasingly numb fingers into the cramped space, wishing he’d been able to find a toolkit. There was a click, a shock that had him quickly yanking his hand free of the circuitry… and the lights flickered back on.

Rocking back onto his haunches with an exhalation of relief, Jim took stock: the damage looked even worse with the lights on. Everything was scattered as if a tornado had torn through the space. Either the inertial dampeners had gone completely offline and the ship had done a few rolls, or someone had boarded and been looking for something. He just wished he could _remember_.

There had been three of them, he knew that much: Ambassador Xian’re, Lieutenant Michaels, and Jim himself. In the light he could see a large smear of blood on the edge of the table that could match his own head, but there was no sign of the others. The door to the forward compartment was closed and didn’t respond to his thumb on the controls. Making his way towards the rear compartment, because that was where he might be able to find a toolkit, he opened the door only to recoil. 

Michaels was sprawled on his back, coagulated blood leaking from his mouth, neck obviously broken and rigor mortis apparent. Jim swallowed hard, then forced himself to step forward and crouch next to the body. There was no sign of other trauma, no marks from a humanoid hand. Had the man simply taken a worse tumble than Jim and snapped his neck as he fell?

Reaching down, he gently closed the lieutenant’s eyes, then quickly gathered up the toolkit, medkit and two EV suits stored in the compartment before returning to the other section, closing the door to seal away the corpse. Sitting on the sleeping bench and opening the medkit, he pulled out the scanner and ran it over himself, wishing Bones were there. The scanner chimed that results were ready, but Jim’s vision swam and an ache settled behind his eyes when he tried to make sense of the display. He just needed to lie down for a moment, then he could figure out what was going on. Just a moment...

Jim remembered a cool hand pressed against his forehead as he was eased down onto a biobed, adrenaline crashing hard after they’d escaped the singularity and confirmed enough systems had remained online to be able to limp towards Earth. In the swirl of darkness he could’ve sworn he heard a warm drawl, _Someone’s got to look after that hard head of yours._

 

*******************

 

“If it’s any consolation: I don’t like it any more than you do.”

Leonard looked up sharply to find Pike offering him a tumbler of what looked like whisky. Accepting the drink with a glower, because it did help, but damned if he was going to show it, he said, “Spock could…”

Pike cut him off swiftly, “We can’t bring anyone in on this. Not yet.” When the younger man looked ready to protest, he sank into a chair so he could face Leonard eye to eye. “This is over my head, McCoy. Nensi was well within his rights to throw us out on our collective asses. I’m still not sure why he took pity, to be honest.”

Taking a sip of his drink to quell his instinct to argue, Leonard allowed himself to savor the smooth burn of good liquor.

“That said,” Leonard glanced up at the thoughtful note in Pike’s tone, “the Chatelet is an interesting choice.” The admiral trailed off and appeared to be considering something.

“Sir?”

“Drop the ‘sir’, we’re going to comm an old friend.” Waving for the younger man to follow him around his desk, Pike settled onto his chair and with a few commands accessed the long-range communications system. Punching in a personal comm code from memory, he waited for it to connect as he explained, “The Chatelet is a light-armored cruiser. When they launched her two years ago it made sense to put someone in command with steady nerves and experience in some hairy situations… albeit as first officer.

The channel abruptly connected and a _stunningly_ beautiful woman filled the screen, command gold evident at her collar. 

Pike straightened in his seat as he said, “Hello, One.”

There was warmth in her smile as she replied with a sing-song Illyrian accent despite her human appearance, “Greetings, _Admiral_ Pike. I should have known I wouldn’t get to be your equal for long.”

 

*******************

Jim woke with a start to find his eyes crusty and breath forming a cloud with every exhale. Shivering violently, he snatched for the blanket that had crumpled onto the floor and wrapped it tightly around his shoulders as he tried to clear the cotton from his head and take stock. The temperature had only continued to drop and was now alarmingly low. _Shit_. He had to figure out what was going on before he froze to death. Swallowing against his churning stomach, Jim forced himself to return to the rear compartment. Stepping over Michaels, he contemplated the engine systems: there was emergency power to the control panels, but not much else. A few taps confirmed the primary engines were offline and likely irreparably damaged, but the backup batteries had more immediate potential. The smell of blood and other fluids he didn’t want to consider was stifling, but with a final override the environmental systems hummed to life. 

Fleeing back into the main compartment, he sank down onto the bench and relished the thin stream of warmed air beating down on the back of his neck and shoulders. As his tensed muscles slowly unlocked, Jim picked up the medical scanner he’d abandoned earlier and ran it over himself. His vision was better than before, but it was still hard to look at the fine print on the readout for long. He wasn’t sure he wanted to look at it either, given what it was throwing up: clear signs of a traumatic brain injury, ligament damage in his left shoulder, two cracked ribs, significant bruising…

Well, that explained why he couldn’t seem to remember what had happened, and why everything even now was a little fuzzy around the edges. Injecting himself with an analgesic to take the edge off his ribs and shoulder, imagining Bones’ grumbling as he did so, he forced himself to approach the door to the forward compartment again. It still didn’t open when he pressed the controls, but with more systems back online his eye was caught by a flashing light in the panel.

Jim stilled, suddenly feeling even more acutely alone: there was a hull breach in the forward compartment.

_Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence_.

Wiping a hand over his face, he muttered, “You said it, Bones.”

 

*******************

“We can’t just sit on our asses!”

Pike took a breath, reminding himself to remain calm when faced with what was becoming an increasingly frequent accusation. “We’re not.” Pouring a generous finger of whisky into a glass, he passed it over to the other man. Lip curling as Leonard accepted the drink without a word of thanks, he settled into his own chair. “One’s going to comm us tomorrow; earlier if she sees anything on long-range sensors.”

“And then what? It didn’t sound like ‘fleet Intelligence has a plan to deal with whatever has happened.” Scorn of the imbeciles in charge bled into Leonard’s tone, “Captain One can’t just mosey into the neutral zone and demand they give us Jim back.”

“We don’t know that the Romulans have anything to do with this. A level seven ion storm could knock out systems on a shuttle.”

“Oh, great,” waving his glass so wildly his drink almost slopped onto the floor, Leonard continued, “so they’re floating around on the edge of Romulan space, utterly defenseless. I feel so relieved.”

Taking a sip of his drink, Pike softly retorted, “Better than taken prisoner.”

Leonard froze, a hot shock of shame coursing through him; an apology died in his throat and he took a silent sip of his drink. 

The silence was reply enough; mollified slightly, Pike swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “I hate it too, McCoy. I hate that they went behind my back and recruited Jim for this, I hate not being in on what’s happening, and I _hate_ not being in command of a ship.”

Leonard gave a grunt that mixed empathy and assent. For a doctor, he knew he could be shit at this emotional stuff. He’d done his best, but sometimes people were just hurt too badly to put entirely back together.

The silver handle of his cane flashed in the light as Pike turned the shaft around in his hand before he said, “Jim doesn’t believe in no win scenarios.” He reached across the space between them and gave the younger man’s knee a companionable slap. “We can’t either.”

 

******************* 

Emergency rations for three beings: two days worth of water and two days worth of nutritional supplement each, or six days of reasonable comfort for one. 

Jim made piles on the floor of the compartment. Four days of half rations, then nine days of third rations, then four days of quarter rations. Almost eight days longer than the batteries could keep life support online. He knew he needed to adjust the settings to lower the power consumption; maybe he could do something to eke out more efficiency from the air scrubbers while he was at it. He remembered some old mission reports from the NX-01 where that had been done. But how had it worked?

_Dammit, man! I'm a doctor, not a physicist._

“Yeah, yeah, Bones. Neither am I.”

_Don't pander to me, kid. One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds._

 

*******************

 

Leonard swiped at his gritty eyes and took a sip of coffee, sighing as it soothed his frayed nerves. It was six days, almost seven, since they’d commed Captain One aboard the Chatelet, and he didn’t feel any goddamn closer to finding Jim. The latest news from Pike wasn’t encouraging at all: the ship had continued along its usual patrol route and passed the designated rendez-vous point without any sign of the shuttle. One had commed to say they were progressing to Starbase Ten where they would make some modifications to the long-range sensor array and collect another shuttle before repeating the patrol. A short stay at starbase and they’d be back to the drop off point in another three days: by that time Jim would have been MIA for over a week and a half.

As much as he hoped to get word of Jim appearing back in Federation space, helming the shuttle with a cocky smile in place and having a good laugh their concern, the pit of his stomach told him it wasn’t going to happen. If Jim had nine lives, he must have burned through just about all of them already.

His padd chirped: a prerecorded message had come in. Frowning, Leonard took another sip of coffee, then rolled over on the couch and stretched out to snag the device with the tips of his fingers. Probably the weekly briefing from medical command; he found it hard to muster any interest for something so mundane.

“Hey Bones…” In the pause Leonard detected that the background noise was different than in the first recording. “I guess it’s not going to plan, because I’ve been MIA for a week now. The mission should have wrapped up so something may be more seriously wrong. My promise stands, though. Be safe. Please don’t do anything foolish. I need you as my CMO when I get back.” A pause, a falter, then, “I’ll see you soon.”

 

*******************

_A little suffering's good for the soul._

“If you try that line on me again, Bones, I swear I won’t be accountable for my actions.” Holding his hands over his face, Jim exhaled and tried to warm his chilled nose. Seven days and the batteries were holding and some creative power rationing meant he’d get a little longer out of them than the specs suggested. That he might have to spend his last days freezing his balls off was an unfortunate side effect. 

He still had more days of one-third rations before he’d need to start cutting them further. That he could do: Jim wasn’t a stranger to hunger; it was the _water_ that was going to be a problem first. The recyclers were still operational, but their power demands were not insignificant. Licking his cracked lips, he jammed his fingers back into the panel he’d forced open and tried to get a grip on the auxiliary power coupling hidden inside.

The temptation to put on one of the EV suits had grown since the day before. With an EV suit he could open the door to the front compartment and try to access the main controls, comms, navigation array and emergency beacon directly. The Chatelet would have swung back and might be within a day or two at cruising speed; closer at warp. If he was near the rendez-vous point and could get a signal out, and the Chatelet was looking, they might be able to pick him up. There were a lot of _ifs_ involved, not the least that he didn’t know which side of the border he was on.

Six hours of breathable atmo in the suit, then he’d suffocate. Even if he returned to the middle compartment and resealed the door, it wasn’t clear if the batteries were up to re-pressurizing the cabin. The odds...

_In this galaxy, there's a mathematical probability of three million Earth-type planets. And in all of the universe, three million million galaxies like this. And in all of that and perhaps more, only one of each of us. Don't destroy the one named Kirk._

“Alright, Bones.” Wrapping the blanket more tightly around his shoulders, Jim resolved that he’d sit tight for another day.

 

*******************

“Sir!” 

Leonard didn’t even pause for the yeoman, just held up a hand as he strode past the desk before before the young man could get out of his chair and snarled, “Don’t even try!”

The one benefit of Pike’s old fashioned office door was how it slammed satisfyingly against the wall when he threw it open. Striding into the room, he met startled blue eyes and demanded, “I helped save the goddamn world, so you can damn well tell me what’s going on!”

Pike sat back in his chair and cast an appraising eye over the younger man, “Did something bring this on?”

“It’s been a week! And I haven’t heard a goddamn thing in three days…” Throwing himself into a now familiar desk chair, Leonard admitted, “I got another message; from the background noise he recorded it later, probably on the Chatelet. Jim must have _known_ they were sending him on some damn fool errand. It’s fucking unacceptable is what it is.”

One eyebrow raised at the language, Pike nonetheless agreed with the sentiment: “I put it a little more delicately to Nensi, but it seems from time to time I can make a convincing case. The Aldrin is going to do a drop-off run to Starbase Ten, departing this evening. I’m going to coordinate the rescue with One and ‘fleet Intelligence.”

“I’m coming.”

“Fine.” Leonard blinked in surprise and Pike shrugged, “You’ll be an unmitigated pain in my ass if I try to leave you behind.”

Leonard wasn’t about to argue with that one.


	3. Chapter 3

Rolling over, the EV suit crinkled with Jim’s movement. “Captain’s log, supplemental. Day nine and I’m continuing with one-third rations. I’m increasingly thirsty, and water will become more critical soon. I’ve continued to lower power output to the environmental systems in order to prolong the batteries; I’m reduced to wearing EV thermal underwear under my uniform, and the outer suit over top, but it can’t be worse than that ridiculous jacket Bones brings camping.”

_If you're going to get nasty, I'm going to leave._

Jim rolled his eyes and stretched languidly on the bench, ribs protesting as he did so, “The only casualty of the last few days is my sanity, although Bones would claim that’s a questionable diagnosis: I doubt he thinks I have much left to lose. I’ve re-routed as much of the ship’s systems to the main compartment as I can, but without accessing the forward controls that doesn’t give me much. The engines are a lost cause, which is probably for the best as the rear compartment…” He was going to say _reeks_ , but the flippant word stuck in his throat. “Anyway, I can’t go back there anymore, for obvious reasons. When I get back I’ll be making a formal petition to Starfleet regarding bringing more variation of flavours to the emergency rations. This stuff tastes like shit. Computer: end recording.”

There was no answering chime from the computer and Jim chuckled weakly to himself. They’d entered the neutral zone with minimal tech, the memory banks of the computer stripped almost bare in case of capture. Recording a log was about the last thing he could do. Imagine if the Romulans captured the ramblings of James Tiberius Kirk. Starfleet Intelligence would skin him alive.

_Yeah,_ grumbled the Bones in his head, _tell me something I don’t know!_

*******************

“So, Admiral Pike and Lieutenant-Commander McCoy?” They both looked up quickly from where they were seated at the Chatelet’s conference table. 

Captain One was willowy-slim, but walked with an air of command that made Leonard’s southern manners double-down on deferential. “Yes, ma’am.”

She arched her eyebrow in a way that Chris recognized as amusement and as she settled into the chair at the head of the table and crossed her arms he realised she was enjoying this: turning the tables on her former captain. Fixing Pike with her clear green eyes, she asked, “Now that you’re here, do I want to know how you commandeered the Aldrin in order to hitch a ride on my ship?”

“You really don’t.”

She snorted, then called up the holodisplay. “We dropped off Kirk and the ambassadorial team ten days ago, here.” And that was what he _loved_ about her, that ability to switch to business at a moment’s notice. “Approximately eleven hours later we received a coded transmission reporting ionic interference, this was immediately followed by telemetry of a level seven ion storm and what may have been an attempt at a distress call, but the signal was heavily scrambled and broke off almost immediately. The Galileo Array tracked the storm for five hours, after which there was no sign of the shuttle. We haven’t been able to pick up anything on long-range sensors, although we’re taking on an upgrade which should boost our range by approximately fifteen percent. It will take us three days to get back to the rendez-vous point following our patrol route, and I have been expressly prohibited to deviate from normal course and speed.”

The holographic map of the border shimmered over the table and Leonard glared at the small marker indicating the rendez-vous point. “When can we depart?”

“Four hours.” She called up another display and the schematics of a vessel hovered in the air. “They’re on a modified Perseus-class shuttle. It has a range of 1.2 light years and was provisioned for a short journey: the plan was to let us get a head start along the border, then cross directly into the neutral zone to the designated planet serving as a meeting point. They were expected to catch up with us at a rendez-vous point twenty-six hours later. Starfleet Intelligence have reported that they do not, at this time, suspect Romulan involvement.”

“You said they were provisioned for a short journey,” Leonard’s eyes narrowed, “It’s been ten days— it’ll be fourteen by the time we’re back to the drop off point.”

At the implied question, One’s expression finally showed her concern. “They had provisions for the day, plus emergency rations. The memory banks had been stripped and minimal tech was on board in case the vessel fell into Romulan hands.”

Flattening his hands on the table to ground himself, Pike offered what he knew Leonard wanted to know: “Standard emergency rations in a shuttle are forty-eight hours per occupant. It does have a water and waste reclamation system, but it’s power intensive. If they suffered a systems failure…” He trailed off and stared at the rotating holo of the ship.

Hands clenching into tight fists, Leonard couldn’t hold back a growled, “Goddamn it, what kind of idiotic decision was that?” For once in his life neither senior officer in the room seemed inclined to disagree.

 

*******************

“Captain’s log: day thirteen.” The rasp to his voice was getting worse, whether from the cold or dehydration, Jim wasn’t sure. “I’ve programmed the padd to make a checkers simulation with adaptive learning. It finally beat me rather than just playing to a stalemate. I’m not sure if it’s getting better, or I’m getting worse.” Probably both.

_Don’t forget your lists_.

“Oh, right,” Jim licked his lips, but they still seemed dry, “I managed to set up a proximity sensor, but can’t keep the navigational array online long enough to get a good read on my location. So far, no one’s come near enough to set off my alarm. It’s so boring I’ve been playing geography against myself— Riverside, El Paso, Osaka, Abu Dhabi, Incheon, Nashville… oh, and I’ve made lists: every component I can name in a warp core, every alien species I’ve met, everyone I’ve… yeah, well...” Shivering, he trailed off on the lists to complain, “It’s fucking freezing in here.”

_I'm going to find a pot of black coffee._

“You would.” Tucking his arms more tightly around himself, Jim rolled over on the bench and pressed his cold nose into the blanket. “I’ve got the temperature lowered and I’m wearing every layer imaginable, but I don’t have enough to eat to keep warm.”

Hunger had settled as an ever-present gnawing deep in his gut like an old familiar friend. Rubbing a hand over his belly, noticeably sunken even through bulky layers of clothing, Jim turned his attention to the situation, “I have four days of one-quarter rations left, but water is a problem. The scanner says I’m dehydrated and I’ve been having these headaches almost non-stop; pinched my hand earlier and I think the skin is still tented. I tried running some piss through the reclamation system, but I’m barely producing anything anymore. I know what starvation looks like, but at least on Tarsus we could still get to water.” The emotion wasn’t strong enough to say it out loud, but the undercurrent was curling at the edges of his awareness.

_Fear of death is what keeps us alive._

 

*******************

“Number One is very resourceful.” Leonard looked up as Pike set two cups of coffee on the small mess hall table. “People have a tendency to end up owing her favors.”

Leonard snorted as he reached for his coffee. “I don’t doubt that.” They’d been underway for just over three days, passing the rendez-vous point without a sign of the missing shuttle at 0600 that morning. Leonard had been hovering in the background as Pike and One had commed command with an update, and damned if she hadn’t been formidable: twisting the admirals’ words until it sounded like they’d authorized her to temporarily reduce speed in order to run more detailed scans of the area

“He’s been missing for two weeks.”

“We’ll find him.” Pike managed a half-smile despite the worry that had settled deep in his gut over the past week. “It’s Jim Kirk, remember.” Taking in the bruised skin under the younger man’s eyes, he recalled what he could of the doctor’s personnel file: Ole Miss, outstanding undergraduate academics, first in his class in medical school, residency in Atlanta, divorced, and something to do with his father that Phil Boyce had alluded to but never elaborated on. As he watched the younger man glower into his coffee, Pike wished he’d asked more questions. Taking a sip of his coffee, Pike took a moment to dare himself into it before asking, “Why does he call you Bones?”

“Because he’s a damned infant and can’t use real names?” While the words were harsh, a spark of amusement settled into Leonard’s eyes. Sensing the admiral was unlikely to drop it, he shrugged good-naturedly. “Turns out I have a tendency to run my mouth off when I mix a raging hangover with aviophobia. It was something I said in the shuttle when I introduced myself: he asked me what the Hell I was doing in Starfleet and I told him that the ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce; that all I had left were my bones.” 

Leonard was smiling as he said it, so Pike allowed himself to huff out a laugh as well, admitting, “I suppose I’m lucky then: all I got was left at the altar.”

Eyebrows drawing together, Leonard regarded the admiral with a new expression that was almost respect, “You’re kidding?”

Rolling his eyes, Pike admitted, “Nope.” Sensing a quid pro quo, he continued, “We met on Risa if you’d believe it: I was a lieutenant on the Antares, she was a commander on the Xerxes and our shore leave happened to coincide.”

Unable to suppress a smirk, Leonard failed to hold his tongue as he observed, “Dating up the chain of command.”

Suppressing a comment that McCoy was one to talk, if the rumors were to be believed, Pike continued. “I was twenty-five and it was _true love_.”

“So the sex was great, is what you’re saying?”

Aware his cheeks were pinking, and unsure how he came to be bantering with the ‘fleet’s grouchiest doctor at 0700 in the morning, Pike carried on anyway. “She’d been president of the interspecies dance club at the academy; I won’t lie, her mastery of Orion dance was impressive. We had a week together on Risa, then jammed the subspace mailbag for months afterwards, met again in San Francisco on leave at new years and I blurted out a proposal when we’d had way too much champagne. We were supposed to meet at the altar five months later and she didn’t show. I waited an hour up there with my best man until we finally gave up and sent all the guests home; she sent me a message later that we were too young and should think of our careers instead.” He waited until the younger man took a sip of coffee to add, “She was Betazoid— talk about feeling exposed up there.”

Leonard _choked_ , coffee flying out of his mouth and spreading across the table as Pike laughed at the younger man’s expense, quickly pulling back out of range of the spill. Swiping at his mouth ineffectually with the back of his hand, Leonard finally managed to catch his breath enough to assert, “That is not true.”

Pike shrugged, eyes dancing, “Ask Phil Boyce: he was my best man and he’s never let me forget it. I’d promised him it would only be fifteen minutes and then he could put his pants back on for the reception. It… wasn’t the warmest day.”

Picturing one of Starfleet Medical’s most decorated doctors suffering that indignity was enough to send Leonard snickering again, already thinking about when he could drop the fact that he knew the story into a conversation with his mentor.

God, McCoy looked years younger when he laughed; much closer in age to Kirk, and sometimes it was easy to forget just how young Jim was. Pike resolved that he’d try to get the man to laugh again, no matter what circumstances they were dealing with. The latter thought was enough to turn his mood, which doctor sensed and quickly sobered as well. Aiming to keep the tone light, he saluted the other man with his mug and said, “Keep the jilted altar story between us for now? I’m sure it’ll be useful to have in my back pocket to cheer Jim up on a rainy day, once he’s got the Enterprise and command is breathing down his neck.”

Swallowing, Leonard nodded, allowing himself to simply enjoy the confidence in the admiral’s tone.


	4. Chapter 4

“Captain’s personal log, supplemental.” Jim’s voice cracked and he coughed before continuing, “I think it’s day sixteen aboard the vessel I have christened the USS Komack’s Frigid Asshole, but my padd died a while ago so it’s hard to keep track. Environmental systems are struggling to keep the carbon dioxide within tolerable levels, which is just as well as I’m pretty much out of food and water.” Coughing harder, he forced himself to breathe more slowly until the bout passed, “I promised Bones I’d make it back, but I don’t know about this time; it’s been so long. Maybe we’re in Romulan space? Or they think we’ve been destroyed?” The possibilities made his headache worsen, and the flickering cabin lighting wasn’t helping. “I’ve rigged the power to oscillate in a predictable pattern; it’s like being in the world saddest club.”

_You're doing everything that's possible._

Jim smiled, feeling his lips crack as he did so. “Thanks, Bones.” Licking ineffectually with a tongue that felt fuzzy and thick, he whispered, “Guess you’ve got two messages from me now. ‘M glad I told you I need you.”

_Well, at least I lived long enough to hear that._

“Should’ve told you in person…”

 

*******************

“Pike to McCoy.”

Leonard muzzily rolled over, confused for a moment before he woke enough to slap at the comm panel next to the bed. “McCoy here.”

“We’re picking up a faint energy signal. I think you want to join us in the conference room. Pike out.”

Launching himself out of bed so fast he almost went down with his feet tangled in the blanket, Leonard pulled on his clothes and ran for the turbolift with his heart fixing to batter its way out of his chest. He dashed into the room to find the admiral, Captain One, and the Chatelet’s first officer hovering around the conference table as an astrometric chart shimmered in the air.

“What’ve we got?’ Leonard’s voice cracked on _got_ , but he couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed.

One graciously ignored his frantic entrance and waved a hand at the display. “We’ve picked up a faint energy signal on long range sensors.” She pressed a few commands and then he could see it: a faint signature that began to oscillate _blip blip blip     blip     blip     blip     blip blip blip_. 

Leonard did feel a brief flash of embarrassment as something seemed to go wrong with his knees and he stumbled hard against the table. Pike reached out and quickly took him by the elbow, offering a steadying arm for a moment, then nodding to One to continue the briefing.

She adjusted the display to show a plotted course: “It’s not on their side of the border, but just barely. It will take twelve hours to reach the signal in a shuttle, then sixteen to eighteen to catch up with the Chatelet as we continue on patrol.”

“I’m going to pilot the shuttle.”

Leonard goggled at Pike’s assertion, glancing at the man’s cane, then his face, then over to Captain One because she had fit young helmsmen for just this kind of thing.

If he expected support, Leonard was sorely mistaken. One merely rolled her eyes and acquiesced, “Fortunately, as I am no longer your first officer it’s not my job to try and convince you to stay safely on the ship.” She leaned towards Leonard and behind a theatrical back of the hand confided, “It was a shit job.”

Well, Hell, if that’s how it was going to be: “I’m going too; you’ll need a medical officer.”

Pike’s jaw tensed, knowing the call would fall to him. “Len, a level seven ionic storm can cause severe structural shearing. I need someone who can complete an EV walk, if necessary.”

“You need someone who can do that with a medkit on their back. There are likely to be three people in serious condition, including Jim, which means I’m coming. I completed the required orbital training exercises and I know how to open a hatch; how to force it open, if it’s damaged.” He could tell Pike wasn’t convinced, but the argument was sinking in. The chief medical officer of the Chatelet was a portly Tellarite who didn’t have a hope of fitting in an EV suit, backed up by a more junior medic and two nurses; all too wet behind the ears to send on a rescue mission. Unable to keep from running his mouth given the mixture of giddiness and anxiety that was swamping him as that signal continued to _blip blip blip_ , Leonard added, “Besides, your assessment of my ability to be an unmitigated pain in your ass stands, sir.” The _sir_ was a sloppy addition, but to his credit Pike didn’t seem phased.

If anything, the admiral appeared to be stifling amusement. Leonard didn’t see what was so goddamn funny, and was about to tell him so when Pike nodded and said, “Requisition the medical supplies you think you need and prepare to depart within the hour. Commander Xin: please make sure we have EV suits, an emergency beacon and an engineering kit with cutting equipment.”

Oh. _Oh_. The realization of what he’d just forced his way into finally hit Leonard and he barked out, “Goddamn it, Jim!” Then turned on his heel and stormed from the room.

 

*******************

For once the view of a starfield that normally set his gut twisting into knots wasn’t so terrifying, because Leonard was sure that if he glared hard enough at one of those dots he’d be able to conjure Jim out of the expanse of space. Pike sat easily at the controls, the only outward sign of his anxiety the little vein pulsing at the edge of his hairline. 

Glancing down at the console again, Leonard reassured himself that the signal was still continuing. It was like some irregular heartbeat: terrifying in its own right, but far more reassuring than nothing at all. An irregular heartbeat could be corrected; coaxed or shocked back to normal.

“I’m switching to short range sensors. We should be able to get a visual shortly. Try hailing them.”

Startled from his musings, Leonard hurried to comply. “USS Gilliam, this is the USS Picasso, please respond.” He waited several long seconds, aware of Pike watching out of the corner of his eye. “USS Gilliam, please respond.”

Nothing.

Sinking back into his seat, only to straighten as Pike reported, “We’re coming up on the signal. Stand by.”

And _there_... a spec grew until it was clearly a shuttle, rotating slowly end over end as it drifted.

“Matching their rotation.” Hands dancing over the controls, Chris carefully guided the Picasso until it came around and stabilized.

Icy fear coursed through Leonard’s gut and he could tell the admiral was similarly affected as the watched the helpless rotation— it signalled severe systems damage, at best.

The console beeped an alert and Pike softly reported, “I’m reading one life sign, faint, main compartment.”

Twisting his daddy’s ring around his little finger in a nervous tic, Leonard tried not to let the emotion coiling in his gut take free rein. Please, he thought, unsure who or what he was addressing, please...

 

*******************

It was cold.

The light flickered, growing increasingly faint.

Jim was dimly aware he should be afraid.

“Bones?” His voice didn’t sound right. Did he sound like that?

_Yeah, Jim?_

*******************

 

Tightening the seals on his EV suit, Leonard took a deep breath of recycled air before closing the airlock behind himself.

“Ready?” 

“The seals are looking good, but the Gilliam’s structural damage is significant: if you have to force the hatch it could buckle the seal.” It was an unwelcome reminder of the situation. Pike was safe enough in the cockpit, but if the seals buckled both ships would vent atmo from their rear compartments, and perhaps even the main cabin of the Gilliam. The occupant of the other ship could die before Leonard could retrieve them and repressurize the Picasso.

Keeping a cutting tool handy, Leonard opened the doors on his side, then gripped the Gilliam’s manual hatch control. It was stiff at first— jammed, but as he put his weight behind it the lever finally slid over and the hatch popped open. It opened partway, then seemed to catch against something. Pushing harder, the obstacle seemed to give enough that Leonard could wriggle his way inside.

In the dim light it took a moment for Leonard to direct his suit lights in the right direction to see...

The obstacle was a body.

A moment when a spark of hot fear shot through him, then Leonard recognized the dark hair of the security officer. Fuck. The kid was wrecked. Decomposing. Clearly his death had been violent; the angle of his neck starkly unnatural. What the Hell had happened?

Straightening from where he’d bent to inspect the corpse, Leonard turned to the door that, he hoped, separated him from Jim. One in three, he reminded himself. One in three. Now fifty-fifty. Almost hesitating to breathe, he triggered the door release.

The cabin lights flickered weakly— the SOS that had called them from Federation space. Someone was on the sleeping bench, bundled in an EV suit but not the helmet. Moving somehow too quickly and too slowly, Leonard was almost bowled over by the sudden recognition that it was _Jim_. 

Crashing to his knees, Leonard cursed the layers of gloves and suit between them as he tried to grip the younger man by the shoulder. “Jim?” He couldn’t feel it, but from the power readings and the layers of clothing he surmised it was cold in the cabin. Very cold. A gentle shake and another try, “Jim?” When that didn’t yield a result he angled his suit lights to look more closely and picked up the rusty crust in Jim’s hair that must have been a head wound at some point. Cursing, he unclipped one of the body bags from his belt and quickly unrolled it on the floor, because he wasn’t going to get any help here. 

Gently, gently, Leonard eased Jim from the bench and onto the bag, refusing to open it although it would have made his job easier. The thing with body bags: they were made to drag with little friction. 

He dragged Jim into the rear compartment, through the airlocks, and then sealed him in the Picasso’s main cabin. Keying open the commlink, Leonard simply said, “I’ve got him, sir.” He ached to rip off the suit and open his medkit, but duty called and the structural integrity of the Gilliam was still questionable. Quickly returning, he worked the battered thing that had been Michaels into a body bag and dragged it into the Picasso’s airlock. That done, he made his way to the cockpit door of the Gilliam and contemplated the little blinking depressurization warning for a moment before triggering the door override. 

The atmo from the main cabin vented quickly and it was his worst nightmare: right there. The ambassador, still in his seat, a human popsicle in front of a rent in the hull. The jagged hole was only a few inches long, but enough. Shuddering, he quickly performed his grim duty once more, then cast off the docking clamps and left the body bags sealed in the Picasso’s airlock with the environmental controls set to minimal.

Chris had already pulled Jim onto a sleeping pad detached from the bench and set on the floor. Leonard grabbed his medkit only to nearly retch as he opened his suit, because even with Chris running the air recyclers at maximum the stench of death from the Gilliam’s airlock had permeated their ship as well.

In the bright light of their shuttle they didn’t need a med scanner to tell that Jim wasn’t in good shape: cheeks hollow, dark bruises under his eyes, skin tenting with dehydration, not to mention the worrying bloodstain in his hair. Chris gently tugged the EV outersuit away to reveal the younger man was wearing as many layers as he could— it clearly had been cold on the Gilliam for some time.

As Leonard cut off the heavy uniform and EV undersuits, Chris’ eyes traced the concave line of Jim’s belly.

Jim.

Jim floated.

Just listening to the voice that had been a constant presence in the last few days:

“It’s a miracle his eyes are pointing in the same direction.”

“Kidneys are about ready to pack it in.”

“Goddamn it, grab me that saline pack.”

_Bones_.

His mouth moved, trying to form words.

“Is he conscious?”

That wasn’t Bones. Jim frowned, and something warm settled on his forehead. So warm.

“Easy, Jim. We’ve got you.”

_That_ was Bones. Jim let himself drift away.

Leonard’s scanner beeped and the doctor’s eyebrows drew together in a scowl; meeting Chris’ concerned gaze, “I’m going to start hydrating him, but we need to get back to the Chatelet.”

“Okay,” Hauling himself back to his feet, Chris forced himself to let duty take over. Returning to the cockpit, he backed them off then launched a subspace charge that affixed itself to the Gilliam’s hull, setting the timer to give them a few hours to get further into Federation space. Setting a course back towards the Chatelet’s route, he set scanners to sound an alarm throughout the ship before hurrying back to the main cabin.

Crouching on the floor, Leonard had a scanner in one hand, the other buried in Jim’s hair. Moving to sit across from the doctor, because kneeling and crouching was still more than his legs could manage, Chris barely managed to keep his hands to himself as he asked, “How’s he doing?”

Leonard bit his lip, smoothing Jim’s hair back from his forehead and affixing a cortical stimulator. “It’s his head I’m most worried about, although he’s in early stage organ failure and will need regen to his left shoulder and ribs.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“It looked like the shuttle was thrown around violently by the ion storm. Michaels died of a broken neck and was badly battered. Jim…” Recalling what he’d seen in the dim light, Leonard swallowed hard. “I think he was thrown into the edge of the table, and then tumbled around the main cabin.”

When Leonard put the scanner down, Chris took that as a sign that it was okay to touch and gently lay his palm over Jim’s right shoulder. The kid looked _terrible_ , but was reassuringly alive under his touch. 

Removing osteoregenerators and a tissue stimulator from his kit, Leonard set about gently affixing them to Jim’s chest and shoulder as he said, “It’s healed a lot already, but an hour under these and I’ll feel a lot better jostling him as we clean him off.” Jim stunk, to put it delicately, almost three weeks of sweat, blood and possibly worse because it was quite possible the younger man had pissed himself when he was knocked out from the head wound. Chris nodded approvingly, then helped to draw an emergency blanket up over Jim’s bare chest.

One last glance at the scanner and Leonard rocked back on his haunches, then settled heavily on the floor. Mirroring Chris’ seated position, he said, “I’ll give it an hour like that, then we can try to make him more comfortable and see about keeping him as stable as possible until I can get his head in a proper scanner.”

“Is he…” Chris trailed off, not really wanting to ask the question.

Reaching down to gently cup the top of Jim’s head with the palm of his hand, not mindful of the bloodstained hair, Leonard softly reported, “He’s got coup-countrecoup sites with a diffuse axonal injury. It’s bad, but the fact that he was clearly awake and looking after himself in there is a good sign. I can’t get the full extent of it with a hand scanner, but he might need some neural grafting.” Might was an understatement; the cloudy patches of damage were clear enough even with the low resolution.

They sat in silence for a while, Chris’ hand snaking back out to settle on Jim’s shoulder. It was as much for his own benefit as for Jim’s: the younger man appeared deeply unconscious. Eventually Leonard moved to fiddle with the saline infusion, starting another line with a nutritional booster and Chris returned to the cockpit the check long-range sensors. No sign of any activity from the wrong side of the neutral zone. He considered risking a coded message to One, updating her on the proposed rendez-vous, but ultimately deleted it without sending. No sense drawing any attention: not when Jim was obviously so fragile.

Pulling out a padd he started on a preliminary report: the admiralty would want an immediate briefing on the whole mess and Chris wanted to forestall any questioning of his judgement in piloting the shuttle or bringing McCoy. Losing himself in getting all the facts set out as clearly as he could, it was a surprise to surface and realize over an hour had passed. The long-range sensors were still clear, so Chris synced them with his padd and made his way back to the main cabin.

The sight that greeted him made Chris stop in surprise: Leonard didn’t look up from where he was gently tugging a fresh pair of uniform trousers over Jim’s naked hips. Fastening them, loosely, because they might have fit three weeks ago but were painfully large now, Leonard picked up a clean cloth and swiped it over Jim’s chest. The bare skin was now free of regenerators, each rib clearly visible.

In a conversational tone, without looking up, the doctor said, “He hadn’t been able to clean himself.” Pausing to add more cleanser to the cloth, Leonard gently dipped into an armpit. “He might wake up again; no sense for him to be uncomfortable.” 

The interaction was intimate; Chris was under no illusions as to the nature of their relationship. He’d seen enough in the Enterprise med bay, late at night, never mind how he’d been drugged up to his eyeballs. Leonard would be working tirelessly: injured crewmembers, traumatized Vulcans, Chris himself… Jim would pull a double shift on the bridge and then come down to the med bay with tousled hair and bloodshot eyes. Leonard wouldn’t look up from his work, wouldn’t even move to let on that he’d heard the doors open, but Jim would spare a glance towards Chris then simply move to stand next to the doctor. A few heartbeats and then Jim would raise a hand and gently set it on Leonard’s shoulder without a word. The effect was immediate: Leonard would just _stop_. Slumping slightly in exhaustion, then nod.

Jim would retreat then, still not a word exchanged, but a few minutes later Leonard would uncurl from his chair with a grimace, perform a final round through the patients, then leave. Chris didn’t doubt he could guess which quarters he went to.

It was good, Chris had thought at the time. He certainly wasn’t making any use of the double bed in the captain’s suite.

If the admiralty had no clue before, they might suspect now. Not many people would take on Chandra to personally launch a rescue mission. Well, Chris admitted, he supposed _he_ had. It would be better if they didn’t know. Not until Jim had a chance to prove himself with a routine command. If they guessed, well, Chris could handle it. 

Finishing, Leonard gently tugged the blanket up around Jim’s neck and checked the position of the cortical stimulator.

From the tense-yet-tender line of the younger man’s mouth it was obvious— he had it bad. Smothering a tender smile of his own, Chris softly said, “You should get some rest, Leonard.” They were past the stage of _McCoy_ now, well past. Sensing the younger man about to protest, he asserted, “You’ve been awake for fifteen hours already and it’s going to be another sixteen until we’re back with the Chatelet. I promise I’ll wake you if anything changes, but if you want to be the one treating Jim you need to sleep while you can.”

Shoulders slumping at the truth in the admiral’s words, Leonard nodded, resignedly. “Fine.” The sleeping bench didn’t look so appealing with the padding removed for Jim, but the younger man grabbed a blanket and made for it anyway. The wave of relief at having _found_ Jim was enough to leave him feeling wrung out, even though he should have been delighted. Closing his eyes, it was surprisingly easy to slip into unconsciousness.

Settling on the floor, Chris positioned the medical monitor where he could easily see it at a glance and took a moment to just listen to the regular in-out of Jim breathing. Calling up something to read on his padd, he allowed himself to smile as Leonard gave a soft snore.


	5. Chapter 5

Two hours later and Chris was regretting sitting on the floor— he’d tried shifting positions, but the pressure on his still healing spinal nerves had started a low throbbing in his pelvis that was threatening to turn into the little sparks of neuropathic pain that had only subsided a few weeks ago.

Awkwardly twisting to straighten a leg, he bumped Jim with his knee. _Shit_. Chris quickly leaned forwards… at first he thought he’d got away with it, but then Jim’s breath gave a little hitch on the inhale. _Fuck_. Kneeing Jim awake was not the careful looking after he’d promised Leonard.

When Jim gave a little squirm Chris abandoned hope of the younger man just drifting off and shifted closer to whisper, “It’s okay.” He rubbed a soothing hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “It’s just me, Jim.”

“Whuh…” The little noise was pure confusion and the small movement split Jim’s dry lips.

The little drop of red against too pale skin made Chris keep his hand moving in smooth reassuring strokes, “It’s Chris, Jim.”

A moment where that seemed to sink in, and then, “Y’came to get me?” Miles more articulate, but still so mumbled it was almost inaudible, “I d’n’know what to say.”

Relief; because holy fuck, that sounded like Jim right down to the curl at the corner of his mouth that made blood well a little more brightly on his lip. Unable to keep an amused note out of his voice, Chris gently replied, “That _is_ a first.” There wasn’t a sliver of blue visible, but Chris was sure Jim was attending as well as he could. “It’s going to be okay, son.”

Jim made a noise that might have been a sigh, shifting restlessly for a moment before stilling again. In that same slurred tone, he tried, “Michaels…”

“I know, Jim. It’s okay.” It wasn’t okay, of course, because the lieutenant was in a body bag just a few meters away, but there was nothing either of them could do about it so they may as well pretend. “It’s okay.”

Trust Jim Kirk to be doggedly unwilling to let it drop, “C’mmand track has ‘n interesting ‘dea of okay.”

So they were going there. Fine. Chris wasn’t dumb: he knew this was about more than Michaels or the ambassador. Moving to sit more comfortably, close enough that Jim would feel the line of Chris’ thigh against his side, Chris splayed his fingers on the younger man’s shoulder and admitted, “You know, I once considered retiring from command?” A little puff of air that might have been disbelief made it out of Jim’s lips, encouraging Chris to continue. “I was captain of the Yorktown at the time, and I just remember being _so tired_. We’d had a mission go south, and I was tired of being responsible for two hundred and three lives. I was tired of deciding which mission was too risky and which wasn’t. And who goes on the landing party and who doesn't.” He closed his eyes for a moment and more softly admitted, “And who lives... and who dies.”

Jim looked to be fixing to try to say something, but Chris forestalled it by gently squeezing his shoulder as he asserted, “You're a Starfleet Captain. You believe in service, sacrifice, compassion, and love.” The younger man’s mouth twitched, a curled lip of acknowledgement. Leaning down so he could take in every minute expression on Jim’s face, Chris continued with gentle intensity, “So that’s what we do. We serve. We sacrifice. We act with compassion. And we love. It’ll hurt every time, Jim. I won’t lie, but it has to be okay, because you’ve done all you can.” He felt it then: a slow slumping under his hand as tension bled out of Jim’s frame. “Get some rest, son. Leonard will chew me out if he thinks I’ve been keeping you awake.”

Jim’s lip curled further into a real smile and Chris knew the younger man was imagining the doctor ripping him a new one. Little did he know.

It didn’t take long for Jim’s breathing to settle into something indicative of sleep. Chris watched the younger man’s face for a while longer, then moved to settle with his back supported by the bulkhead. Calling up the preliminary report on his padd, he pecked away at it until the text and facts were as ironclad as possible.

A few hours later and Leonard’s breathing noticeably changed; Chris checked the time and smiled: five hours was longer than he’d thought the doctor would manage to stay out. He set his padd aside and waited.

It wasn’t long.

Leonard went from asleep to awake in a single breath— a capability Chris had seen before in ‘fleet doctors. Blinking, taking a moment to attempt to flatten his unruly hair, then abruptly sitting up and looking to Chris, Leonard asked, “How’s he doing?”

“He woke up— maybe for ten minutes.”

A gusty exhale and a ghost of a smile greeted that, then, “Was he coherent?”

“Coherent-ish.” Swallowed the little knot of worry deep in his belly, Chris admitted, “He didn’t open his eyes.”

Leonard’s initial relief melted into a concerned furrow between his eyebrows and he rolled off the bench with a grunt. Picking up the medical scanner he ran it over the younger man, holding his breath until it confirmed Jim was at least no worse.

The rest of the journey back to the rendez-vous dragged slowly: Chris confirmed the Gilliam was destroyed, they watched Jim sleep, Leonard heated up a meal for them, they watched Jim sleep, Chris re-wrote his report, they watched Jim sleep, Chris bullied Leonard into taking another nap…

Jim slept.

*******************

It was _warm_.

Jim couldn’t remember why that was significant, but he grasped the idea that it was _important_.

“Jim?”

That voice was also important. He knew that.

“Easy, son.”

And that voice was important too. Jim mustered his will and _surfaced_. The light was a stab of pain through his skull and he winced, eyes closing as quickly as they’d opened.

“Jim?”

_Bones_. It took a moment before Jim realized he hadn’t quite managed to say that out loud. “Booonesss,” that didn’t come out right, but it might have been close enough, because something warm cupped his cheek.

“That’s it, Jim. Open your eyes for me.”

Eyes watering in protest, Jim only managed to briefly crack his eyelids again. It was enough to take in that he was somewhere _bright_ and very _white_. Med bay? But what ship? Was he supposed to be on a ship? It was too confusing, and the hand touching his face seemed to sense that.

Gently stroking the pad of a thumb over Jim’s cheekbone, Leonard looked back to Chris and softly said, “He’s not quite here.”

Taking a step closed to the biobed, Chris asked, “What were you expecting?”

Leonard shrugged without taking his hand from the younger man. “I’ve done a modest repair and set some neural grafts, but given it’s been weeks since the initial injury I want to hold the full tissue repair until we get back to SFM.

Jim was aware of sounds; voices that he knew. It blurred, and he just felt so very tired. 

The hand on his cheek gave another stroke, “It’s okay, Jim. Don’t worry. Just sleep.

_Sure, Bones_.

 

*******************

 

Jim surfaced again without conscious effort.

It was bright, but not _bright_ bright.

“Ah, Jim. Good: you’re awake.”

This time, Jim’s eyes seemed to obey him, as he blinked and the blur above him resolved into Leonard McCoy without any pain. “Bones?”

“Yeah.” Leonard set down the hand scanner in favor of talking with the younger man. “What do you remember?”

A confusing jumble, if he were honest, but amidst it all one thing stood out: “You came to get me?” Movement caught his attention behind Bones and Jim realized Pike was there too. “Both of you?” It was half a statement, half a question.

“Both of us,” Chris smirked and confided, “but Leonard did an amazing job of chewing out the admiralty to get us there.”

Jim’s gaze flitted back to the doctor’s face and sure enough a slight flush was warring with defiance. “Really?”

Chris answered for Leonard, with a barely suppressed grin as he confirmed, “Epic.”

Leonard snorted, ducking his head for a moment in acknowledgement before reaching for a hypo.

“We’ll talk later, Jim.”

“But...” Jim squirmed as if he could try to evade the injection, but Leonard’s aim was unerring and the drug hit his system hard with the hiss of the hypospray. “Bones!” 

Leonard just rolled his eyes, immune to the whine in the younger man’s tone. “Get some rest, Jim. It’s good for you.”

Jim wanted to protest that it sounded like he’d been doing nothing but resting, but couldn’t quite manage it; whatever Bones had hit him with was strong. Through closing eyes Jim watched as Pike slung an arm around Leonard’s shoulders, steering the younger man towards the door. _Huh_.


	6. Chapter 6

Tap, tap, tap, tap…

Jim was vaguely aware of a faint tapping noise, then the hum and antiseptic smell that told him, _medical facility_. He opened his eyes to find something unexpected: Admiral Pike sitting in a chair next to the bed, tapping away on a padd.

The question seemed to get caught in his throat at first, so he swallowed and tried again, “Sir?”

Pike looked up quickly, fine lines crinkling the corners of his eyes as he smiled. “How are you feeling?”

Biting back a comment about deja vu, Jim replied, “Fine, sir.” Looking around confirmed that he was indeed back in San Francisco and he allowed himself a moment of relief before he asked, “Where’s Bones?”

An almost guilty look crossed the admiral’s face as he admitted, “I may have given him a dose of his own medicine.”

It took Jim a moment to parse potential interpretations of that statement. “You had…”

“Him sedated, yes.” Sensing Jim didn’t know whether to protest or approve, Chris added, “He’d been going non-stop to get to you, then was in charge of your treatment on the Chatelet and once we got back to Earth.”

“Treatment?” Jim thought back, “My head?”

“Sounds like your brain rattled around inside that hard skull of yours, but Leonard’s assured me and the admiralty everything is back where it belongs. You’ll be fine, Jim. With a little R&R you can be back on light duty in a couple weeks.”

“Can I get out of here?”

Chris’ riposte was immediate: “Do you have somewhere to go?”

“I…” Jim closed his mouth, because he’d only just rented an apartment when the mission briefing came in, and half of his stuff was in boxes in his old dorm while the other half was in boxes in the new place. Bones had called it a damned monstrosity; said humans had left the treetops for a reason and there was no call to live so high above the ground.

From the look on his face, Chris seemed to be familiar with Jim’s semi-nomadic status. “I know Leonard will want to keep a close eye on you for a few more days. I suggested he might prefer to do it from my spare room.”

Wait.

What?

Jim blinked. Had Pike just offered…

“So,” the admiral was smiling again in a way Jim found almost disconcerting, “want to get out of here?”

Jim felt like the world had shifted under his feet, but he was still certain of his dislike of hospitals. “Oh Hell yes.”

“Good.” Snapping open his comm, “Pike to Boyce: Can you come give Kirk a discharge eval?” There was an acknowledgement, then before Jim could ask questions the door opened, as if Boyce had been waiting nearby.

Boyce was older, with a warm smile, blue eyes and commander’s stripes at his sleeves. 

Pike introduced him as his former CMO, and the doctor’s exam was thorough: scanning Jim repeatedly on the biobed, then helping him sit before testing his ability to stand beside the bed unaided. Jim doggedly followed every command patiently, knowing that playing along was his best hope of escaping the facility.

“Leonard tells me you tend to not sleep well in hospital?”

Jim’s gaze snapped from the window to Boyce’s face at the question, surprised. It was true, though, so he nodded.

“Well,” Boyce snapped his scanner shut with a quick glance at Pike, “Everything looks good. Leonard was on board with discharging you if your scans checked out, so long as it was into his care. I take it that’s sorted?”

Chris confirmed, “All sorted.”

“Fine then.”

Jim blinked. He couldn’t recall ever escaping so easily. Warily, he glanced between the two men, “Really?”

Boyce smiled, “Really. No work at all for two weeks, then light duty after that, but there’s no reason to keep you here any longer.”

_Any longer_. Jim frowned. “What day is it?”

Boyce’s gaze rolled over to Pike, “I’ll sort out the beam and let you handle that, Chris. Good to see you looking better, Kirk.”

Helping Jim sit back on the edge of the bed, Chris gently reported, “It’s been a month since you left on the mission.”

_A month_? Jim couldn’t quite hide his disbelief.

“Your ship was hit by a level seven ion storm and knocked way off course. Leonard couldn’t treat you fully on the Chatelet; you were in pretty bad shape when we got to you. It was easier to keep you pretty much out until the neural repair was complete.” 

“Am I,” there was no delicate way to phrase it, so Jim just said, “okay?” Pike had said as much earlier, but he needed to hear it again after learning it had been a _month_.

“You’re fine. I think it took more work than Leonard would care to admit, but no lasting damage and no concerns about your fitness for command.” His communicator chirped a message that must have been the discharge confirmation because Chris motioned for Jim to stand and when he did there was a swirl of light…

...and when Jim blinked he found himself in what was obviously a private home. And not just any private home: the admiral wasted no time in peeling off his grey uniform jacket and casually setting it over the back of a chair. 

“Have a seat.” 

Taking the wave of the older man’s hand at face value, Jim settled heavily into the suggested sofa, sighing in appreciation of the soft cushions. He may have been out for a week, but for some reason his body was already keen to be horizontal again.

The admiral disappeared, footsteps receding to some room out of view before he reappeared and handed Jim a glass of water. Settling into an armchair, he seemed to sense Jim needed a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Sir…”

“Jim, if you don’t stop calling me that I’ll send you back to the hospital.” 

The words may have been abrupt, but the tone was gently amused and Jim mustered an apologetic smile, then teased, “I’ve been subjected to a lot of lectures lately about _proper Starfleet decorum_.”

Chris snorted, features softening further. “I guess they forget to tell you it doesn’t apply when you’re in ‘fleet issued pyjamas.” He scrutinized Jim closely, taking in the still pale features and hollow cheeks. Leonard may have had the younger man on a high-calorie parenteral nutrition regimen, but Jim still looked pared-down from his previous frame. He also looked like he was finding it hard to support the weight of his own head. Checking the clock, Chris decided he’d have to play caregiver for a little while: “Let me show you the guest room and get you some sweats to change into. I’ll heat up some soup for dinner.” The discharge plan had come with a warning that that Jim’s stomach might not be ready for much in the way of solid food after so long going without. “Leonard should be over in an hour or so. Phil read him the riot act earlier and told him to go take a nap.” 

“Is he okay?” Because that was a question that Jim really should have asked earlier.

Chris smiled fondly in a way that did something unexpected to the pit of Jim’s stomach. “He’s fine, and I will relish the memory of him storming through the admiralty offices. That thing with the eyebrows? Terrifying.”

Jim smiled despite himself, because he knew _exactly_ what eyebrow thing was being described.

“Come on,” Chris stood and Jim followed, “the guest bedroom is through here…” It was a south-facing room bathed in warm sunlight and Jim was suddenly glad he wasn’t going home to his half-furnished apartment. The bed was a California king and Jim hadn’t realized what three years of dorm beds and shipboard bunks had done to him until he was flopping down onto the soft quilt with an appreciative groan, ‘fleet decorum be damned. 

Chris just laughed and vanished for a moment before returning to throw a pair of sweatpants and a dark grey sweatshirt over Jim’s face. “Dinner in fifteen.” When that was met with a sloppy salute from somewhere in the vicinity of the younger man’s forehead he closed the door with a snort.

Jim didn’t question the provenance of the sweats: they were a little too well worn to be brand new; a little too soft to be standard ‘fleet issue. Tying the drawstring firmly over his hips, Jim tried to ignore the sharp angles that hadn’t been there the last time he’d dressed himself. Allowing himself a few minutes to browse the bookshelf (real books; mostly antique) and examine the framed photos on the wall (desert landscapes, plus a smaller one that looked like it could be Chris’ ‘fleet graduating class), Jim eventually wandered back through the living room and to where he guessed the kitchen would be found.

Chris had taken the opportunity to change as well, and looked almost startlingly domestic as he stirred something on the stove while wearing jeans and a navy blue t-shirt. There were three place settings at the small kitchen table. Jim shuffled into one chair and glanced hopefully at the bottle of wine opened to breathe. 

“Don’t even think about it.” Chris waved a spoon, “That’s for me and Leonard; you can have some when and if he says it’s okay. I am _not_ getting that eyebrow again.”

Jim snorted, but didn’t press the issue, taking a sip of water instead.

Chris set a steaming bowl of soup on the table and the younger man inhaled appreciatively: potato leek with what smelled like bacon. Hearty and warming; comfort food. 

There was a thud from the other side of the apartment, but Chris appeared unconcerned. Jim realized why a second later when Leonard appeared around the corner; obviously having let himself in.

“Jim!” Little lines of happiness fanned out from the corner of the doctor’s eyes, “Boyce said he’d consider releasing you, but confiscated my padd so I wasn’t sure if he’d done it. It’s good to see you up.”

“It’s good to be up. I gather I owe you a thank you.”

Leonard waved his hand in good-natured dismissal as he made his way to the table and helped himself to the wine. When he caught Jim making an imploring expression he rolled his eyes and poured the world’s smallest glass of wine, before pouring something more normal for Chris.

Carrying two plates over, Chris set one down in front of Leonard. “Don’t worry; it’s not grilled cheese.”

Leonard just about choked on his wine as Chris’ eyes danced with mirth and Jim wondered what the joke was all about.

Spluttering into his napkin for a moment, then recovering, Leonard accepted the plate with a smile and, “Thanks, Chris.”

_Chris_? Bones had called him ‘sir’ the whole time he was remyelinating the admiral’s spine. This new camaraderie was strange, and Jim wasn’t sure what to make of it.

It continued through dinner: as Leonard and Chris ate their pasta and started on a second glass of wine they joked and bantered about things Jim would never have imagined they had in common. Applying himself to his soup, Jim managed half the bowl before his stomach cramped painfully. He breathed quickly through his nose, lowering the spoon for a moment.

“Feeling full?”

Trust Bones to notice. Glancing up, Jim found both men watching him. Shrugging in reply, he replied, “I guess I’m not really up for much yet.”

Sensing that what had been appetizing could become nauseating, Chris quickly collected the bowl and carried it towards the sink as Leonard gave a reassuring shrug of his own, “Don’t worry about it. I can give you nutritional boosters until you’re comfortable eating full meals again.”

Jim’s shoulders sagged in relief that he wasn’t going to get hectored to eat more; he didn’t think he could take that from Bones with good graces. Sitting back in his chair, Jim watched as the other men finished their meal, catching him up on what he’d missed in the last month as they did so. It was both a lot and not much: it sounded like they’d been preoccupied with Jim himself, as the ‘fleet gossip only took a few minutes to recount.

“You know,” Finishing his last bite Chris set down his fork and casually said,“Ole Miss is playing Notre Dame and last I checked it was 24-17.”

Leonard beamed, _beamed_ , and Jim felt his jaw go a little slack as the older man drawled, “Well why didn’t you say something,” then swatted Jim’s thigh with his napkin to encourage movement, “Get going, beanpole.”

Jim squawked, because _beanpole_ , but let himself be ushered into the living room where a large screen was built into the wall opposite the sofa. Leonard flopped down on one side of the sofa and Jim the other, while Chris tugged an armchair to better face the screen.

The game was tied by the time they got it on, and Leonard was quickly absorbed. Glancing to the side, Jim caught Pike smiling with what looked like satisfaction at the relaxed picture Leonard presented: topped up glass of wine loosely in hand and a grin on his face as he followed the action on screen.

That thing that Jim didn’t quite understand twisted in his gut again, because so far as he knew _he_ was the only one who looked at Bones like that. He hadn’t realized he was staring until Pike looked to one side and caught his gaze. 

The corner of the older man’s mouth curled up even further, and he raised his glass in something that might have been a gesture of acknowledgement before turning back to the screen.

Jim.

Jim was confused.


	7. Chapter 7

Jim stretched. Feet _and_ arms: a passable impression of a starfish. The large mattress cradled his body and he sighed in appreciation. Definitely not a regulation bunk.

A few seconds more of waking up and Jim realized he was alone. In a king-sized bed. He had a dim memory of falling asleep watching the football game, then being gently shaken awake and helped to the guest bedroom. That thread of confusion from the previous day prickled the edge of his awareness. Where was Bones? He could just remember the older man gently tugging the quilt up around his chest… then nothing.

Pulling back the covers revealed he was wearing the same sweats from the previous day. Admiral Pike— _Chris’_ clothes. A medical monitoring bracelet glinted at his wrist, and sure enough a moment later there was a summary rap on the door before it opened.

Bones poked his head around the doorframe, a genuine smile transforming his face when he saw Jim looking back. “Morning, sleepyhead. You want to get up or stay down for a while?”

Jim frowned, “Um…”

Rolling his eyes, fondly, at the inarticulate response, Leonard said, “Sit tight. I’ll bring you breakfast.”

Jim contemplated pulling himself up to a sitting position against the headboard, but damn the bed was comfortable; he settled for wiggling his toes as he continued his starfish impression.

A few minutes later the door opened and a tray preceded Leonard into the room. Chuckling softly at the sight of the younger man, he set down the tray and waved a hand, _up_.

Complying, Jim looked towards the tray as he got settled, “Oatmeal?”

“Grits.” Leonard picked up a bowl and spoon, passing it over, “With cheese: old family recipe.”

“A McCoy favorite?” Jim accepted the food, “Count me in.” 

Leonard picked up his own bowl from the tray, moving to sit more comfortably on the side of the bed. He was wearing well-worn jeans and a faded t-shirt; Jim wondered if the other man had spent the night as well. On the sofa, in some other guest room, or...

Taking a quick bite to forestall his speculation, Jim couldn’t hide his surprise at how his mouth watered.

“I know, right?” Leonard’s eyes twinkled.

“Bones,” the name came out garbled around the food; swallowing quickly, Jim blurted out, “It’s _really_ good.” There was a smugness in Leonard’s answering laugh that Jim decided he needed to hear again at the earliest possible opportunity. The food was sitting well on his stomach and damn it was delicious so Jim ate quickly; only slowing down as the bowl emptied and the realization that Bones must have cooked in Pike’s kitchen left him feeling oddly adrift again.

“Hey,” trust Leonard to sense the shift in mood, “you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Jim forced a grateful smile on his face, “Yeah, it’s really good, Bones.”

“Mmmhmm.” For once, the older man seemed willing to drop it in favor of enjoying his own breakfast.

Having finished his modest portion first, Jim took the opportunity to watch Bones eat. The older man looked… good, of course, but there was a hint of bruising under his eyes that spoke of recent nights with little sleep. Jim felt a surge of warmth in his chest at the knowledge that Bones had chewed out admirals in order to come rescue him.

Bones and Pike.

“Alright.” Leonard had finished his grits without Jim noticing, and quickly reached out to collect the younger man’s bowl before stacking both on the tray and placing that on the floor. “Talk to me, kid.”

Well, fuck. Confronted by earnest-yet-concerned hazel eyes, Jim’s tongue betrayed him, “You came for me.”

Leonard nodded. Waited. There was _something_ dancing in Jim’s eyes that needed to come out.

“Are you and Pike…”

The sentiment was so unexpected it took a moment before Leonard barked out a laugh of disbelief. His initial reaction of surprise was followed by a flash of anger, quickly suppressed. It’s Jim, he reminded himself, the kid didn’t exactly have a history for navigating things like this. The comment was insecurity, rather than an accusation.

Forcing himself to not flinch; to not move a muscle towards Jim or away, Leonard replied just as softly, “Why would you…”

_Why would you think that?_ Jim felt like his throat was closing and he forced himself to shrug; to speak over the growing lump, “I just… you call him Chris.” There was a stress on the name: _Chris_.

Oh, boy; Leonard took a moment to choose his words carefully, “We spent weeks battling the admiralty, then practically commandeered a shuttle to come get you. He had to deal with being sidelined by his injuries from the Narada; and I had to get myself into a goddamned EV suit. Facing adversity breeds friendship, kid. Hell, look at you and Pointy.” Setting a hand between them on the quilt, splaying his fingers instead of moving closer, “He’d probably like you calling him Chris too. Off-duty.” Jim frowned, because, well, he wasn’t entirely sure why, and Leonard seemed to sense it. “He’s been on your side since he hauled you out of that bar in Riverside. He’s career ‘fleet, Jim. He may not have a family of his own, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be damned paternal about you at times.”

Embarrassment was beginning to settle in Jim’s stomach, because he’d pretty much accused _Bones_ of wanting to go off with _Pike_ and it was…

Leonard cut off that train of thought before it could gather too much steam, “I guess I might have presumed some things were understood that maybe we should have talked about.” Finally allowing himself to hitch closer on the bed, so they were sitting more eye to eye, he asked, “Was there a third message?”

Mutely, Jim nodded, because of course there was a third message; to be sent if he was reported presumed-dead or KIA outright.

“What did it say?” Leonard could see the answer in Jim’s eyes well enough, but needed to hear it aloud.

Shifting his weight, eyes bright, Jim replied, “That I’m sorry.”

Leonard had waited too fucking long to let the younger man off easily. “And?”

The words he hadn’t quite said yet tumbled passed Jim’s lips. “That I love you.”

The reply was immediate, “I love you too.” Leonard’s smile was bright, then he leaned in and captured the younger man’s lips in a kiss and Jim was _home_. They were both lost in the moment, after all the uncertainty and fear of the previous weeks. Eventually, Leonard pulled back far enough so admit, “I slept on the pull out couch in the office; wanted to make sure you got as much rest as possible.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Jim’s face, just in front of his ear, then whispered, “I’m not doing that again tonight.”

Jim shivered in anticipation, but could sense that it wasn’t the time to act on the promise.

Sure enough, Leonard pressed another kiss to his lips, then sat back. “Come on, it’s almost ten; Chris has made coffee and it’s a hell of a lot better than that swill from the canteen.”

Disentangling himself from the quilt made Jim admit he still felt pretty weak. Leonard abandoned the dishes in favor of helping the other man. Any instinct Jim had to bat away the hands vanished at the sense of just how good it felt to be pressed against Bones’ side.

“About damned time.” Chris’ smile was warm, and Jim felt a flush crawling up his neck although it was unclear if the older man was referring to his appearance in the living room or Bones’ arm slung around his shoulders. “Son, if they ever try to send you off alone on some fool mission you _tell_ us, you understand? I didn’t put up with this promotion to not throw my weight around the admiralty when I need to.”

“Yessir.” When the admiral raised an eyebrow, Jim remembered Bones’ words from earlier and amended it to, “Yes, Chris.”

The older man’s smile was, well… Jim vaguely knew Chris was damn proud of him sometimes, but he’d never seen it expressed quite like that before. It felt good. It felt _damned_ good.

Bones helped Jim down into a comfortable spot on the sofa then vanished, presumably to take care of the dishes. Chris disappeared momentarily as well, then reappeared to press a mug of coffee into Jim’s hands: medium roast with a splash of milk, just how he liked it. 

Settling into an armchair with his own coffee, the older man started up an easy conversation about the Enterprise repair schedule and the latest thoughts on a relaunch date.

A few minutes later Leonard sidled in with his own mug, settling close enough to Jim on the couch that warmth blossomed where their thighs brushed together. As the doctor joined the conversation it shifted from shop talk to how they would spend the remainder of their time on Earth. Chris’ suggestions were, for lack of a better word, perceptive: how Jim could make sure to get enough time with the right admirals, a short-term research grant scheme that would let Leonard get some lab resources to finish up the virology project he’d been working on during his final semester, even a few suggestions of things Joanna might enjoy if they flew her out.

That last topic seemed to relax Leonard even more; little wrinkles of happiness fanning out from the corner of his eyes as he considered Chris’ offer to pull some strings and let her have a behind the scenes look at xenobiology’s sehlat breeding program.

Eventually Chris collected his mug and stood. “I’ve got to have lunch with Nogura,” he shared a significant look with Leonard, “I’ll smooth a few things over.” Leonard flushed, but appeared blatantly unapologetic; if anything, Chris seemed to suppress a smile at that. “Take care, Jim. Make sure Leonard gets some rest. I’ll pick up some things for dinner— comm me if anything in particular comes to mind.” The admiral patted Jim’s shoulder as if needing the reassurance for himself as well, then took his leave.

Slumping into the warmth of Leonard’s side, because warmth still felt like a luxury, Jim said, “Sounds like we’re both off duty. What’s the plan for today?”

“You wanna stay on the couch or go back to bed?”

Oh… _well_. Squirming slightly against Leonard, Jim replied, “Bed. Definitely.”

Leonard rolled his eyes, pulling away, “I don’t want to get your blood pressure up just get. You blow a grafted vessel in your brain and it’s all over.” That was enough to kill any mood that might have been brewing. “I’ve got some medical journals to read and I’ll get you a padd.” Jim huffed, but let himself be pulled up and gently pointed towards the guest room.

Crawling back into the bed and stretching out (he _had_ to get a mattress like this for the captain’s quarters), Jim fought the already building exhaustion to stay awake until Leonard wandered in holding two padds.

The older man stripped off his jeans with an eyebrow pointed at Jim that said, _behave_ , then crawled into the bed.

Jim took the offered padd greedily, but as he scrolled through the news he was eventually forced to admit that his energy levels were nowhere near what he’d thought it would be: a couple hours up and he was already finding it hard to keep his eyes open. Setting the padd aside, Jim rolled over to plaster himself against Leonard’s side: drinking in the warmth and solid presence of the other man.

Leonard didn’t look up from his padd, something about the regenerative capabilities of Andorian livers, but shifted so that Jim’s head could pillow on his arm.

Closing his eyes, Jim allowed himself to remember the cold and loneliness of the shuttlepod; the fear that no one was coming for him. Cocooned in warmth, with Bones, _real Bones_ , breathing next to him, the memory didn’t have any power over him. Jim knew he’d been setting foot in a shuttle soon enough— and he looked forward to it because it was one step closer to relaunching the Enterprise. The five year mission, shipping out with _Bones_... it was daunting, but if recent days had taught him anything it was a newfound conviction that Chris and Bones had his back. More than he’d ever appreciated. The thought of being up there and being able to talk to Chris while he figured things out— it felt good. He thought he could take on just about anything.

As if sensing the younger man’s thoughts, Leonard softly said, “He’s a good friend, Jim.”

Jim hummed his agreement, because wearing borrowed sweats while he daydreamed of the stars, curled up against Bones, in the most comfortable bed _of his life_ , Jim had never been more grateful that he’d met Christopher Pike.


End file.
